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ARCHWAYS 
OF  LIFE 

Mercedes  de  Acosta 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/archwaysoflifeOOacosrich 


ARCHWAYS 
OF  LIFE 


ARCHWAYS  OF  LIFE 


hy 
Mercedes  de  Acosta 

Author  of  "Moods,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 

MOFFAT,  YARD  AND  COMPANY 

1921 


Copyright,  1921,  by 
MOFFAT,  YARD  &  COMPANY 


ro 

A.  P. 


460491 


Acknowledgment  is  made  to  "  Poetry:  A 
Magazine  of  Verse,''  for  permission  to 
reprint  some  of  the  poems  in  this  volume. 


—7— 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Faded  Petals 13 

Soiled  Hands 14 

Reflection 15 

Lumbermen 16 

Sonnet 17 

Unpossessed 18 

Unreality 19 

Magic 20 

Platitudes  .      .      .      .  ^ 21 

A  Dream 22 

To  VOULETTI 23 

October  28th 24 

Life's  Mirage 25 

Wind 26 

God's  Hand 27 

Words 29 

Blindness 30 

Spring  and  You   . 31 

Walt  Whitman 32 

Surrender 33 

We  Three 34 

In  the  Wings 38 

Infatuation 39 

All  I  Ask 40 

-9- 


PAGE 

Symbol 41 

Misunderstanding 42 

Ending 44 

Poetry 46 

Atlantic  City 48 

Your  Face 49 

Illusion 50 

Festa  del  Redentore  in  Venice       ...  51 

Color  Symphony 52 

To  One  Who  Loves  Jewels 53 

Footprints 54 

Life  and  Youth 55 

Poor  Fools 58 

Longing 59 

Music 60 

Flowers  and  Stars .  61 


—10— 


ARCHWAYS  OF  LIFE 


-11- 


I  am  a  part  of  all  that  I  have  met. 

Yet  all  experience  is  an  arch  wherethro' 

Gleams  that  untravelled  world,  whose  margin  fades 

Forever  and  forever  when  I  move, 

"  Ulysses." 


12- 


FADED  PETALS 

Come!    Let  us  be  friends. 

Throw  off  the  cloak  of  passion 

(You  wear  it  far  too  much) 

And  though  your  sUghtest  touch 

Has  ceased  to  make  me  tremble. 

There  is  no  reason  why  — 

We  still  cannot 

Climb  our  hill  together. 

And,  at  twilight's  end, 

Call  each  other  "friend." 

The   rose   tree   fades   but  has   its   spring   and 

autumn, 
And  so  with  love. 
But  with  a  rose  — 
We  gather  its  faded  petals 
And  in  a  box  of  precious  metals 
We  store  its  fragrance. 
Why  not  with  love? 
And  which  is  more  beautiful  — 
Who  can  say? 

A  rose  in  bloom  or  the  fragrance  of  its  petals 
In  decay! 

-13- 


SOILED  HANDS 

After  everyone  had  left, 

It  was  always  so  wonderful  sitting  in  the  dark 

theatre  with  you. 
There  was  a  mystery  about  it, 
As  though  the  echo  of  many  plays 
Still  lingered  in  the  folds  of  the  curtain, 
While   phantom   figures   crouched   low   in   the 

chairs. 
Beating  suppressed  applause  with  vapor  hands. 
Do  you  remember  how  we  always  sat  silently.'^ 
I  would  shut  my  eyes  to  feel  your  closeness 

nearer. 
Then  slowly  and  like  a  ritual 
I  would  take  your  hand. 
And  you  would  laugh  a  little  and  say, 
"My  hands  are  awfully  sticky"  —  or 
"I  can't  seem  to  keep  my  hands  clean  in  this 

theatre," 
As    if    that    mattered  ...  as    if    that    mat- 
tered. ... 


14-- 


REFLECTION 

I,  WITH  my  back  to  the  window, 

Can  see  bending  and  swinging  trees, 

A  gay  blue  patch  of  the  sky 

With  the  corner  of  a  cloud  looking  in 

And  you,  with  your  face  buried  in  a  rose. 

Thus,  I  have  my  whole  world, 

In  just  this  little  mirror 

Which  I  hold  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand. 


—15— 


LUMBERMEN 

I  WATCH  the  lumbermen 
Winding  up  the  mountain 
Between  the  autumn  branches. 
I  see 

Leaves  gold,  red,  flame  and  green, 

With  flashes  of  faded  blue  between 

Of  their  overalls. 

Straining  and  pulling 

Horses  brown  and  soiled  white 

Stagger  up  the  mountain  side 

Before  them 

Dragging  huge  and  heavy  timber. 

Down  in  the  valley 

I  can  hear  the  echo 

Of  the  men's  muffled  curses. 

And  the  quick  snap 

Of  long  thin  whips. 


-16- 


SONNET 

I  COULD  not  wish  all  pain  and  grief  and  fears 
Should  leave  my  life  and  let  my  heart  go  free; 
For  then  true  love  could  never  stay  with  me, — 
That  deepest  love  that  had  its  birth  in  tears. 
Smiles  come  in  eyes,  while  often  joy  appears 
When  lovers  meet  —  but.  deeper  than  the  sea. 
With   strength   that   could   a   thousand   chains 

tear  free, 
Is  love  that  from  gray  tragic  sorrow  rears. 

So,  love,  but  one  rare  bliss  I  would  aspire: 
K  you  would  let  me  share  your  grief  on  earth. 
Bear  all  your  loss  and  take  your  pain  entire  — 
Guide  your  dark  way.     Let  others  share  your 

mirth, 
I  know  your  gay  laughter  is  not  for  me  — 
But  lean  on  me  in  grief,  when  tears  flow  free. 


17- 


UNPOSSESSED 

Never  shall  I  be  all  subdued. 

Nor  the  real  secret  of  me  understood; 

Passionately  and  violently  my  body  may  be 

possessed, 
But  my  spirit 
Always  a  virgin, 
Will  wander  on  forever 
Unpossessed ! 


—18— 


UNREALITY 

From  out  the  window  pane  I  see  your  face, 

Its  outline  a  little  vague 

In  the  dimness  of  the  shadow. 

But  the  whiteness  of  your  skin 

Is  like  a  clean  ship's  sail, 

Standing  out  in  the  darkness  of  a  night. 

And  your  eyes, —  I  see  them  like  two  golden 
bowls. 

With  the  rays  of  a  thousand  moonbeams  sweep- 
ing over  them. 

As  I  pass  out  into  the  blackness, 

I  wonder  if  I  have  ever  really  known  you  — 

Or,  if  you  exist  at  all  — 

And  are  not  but  a  twisted,  fevered,  silver  crea- 
tion of  my  brain. 

And  the  unreality  of  you  comes  over  me. 

Like  a  mist  upon  a  lonely  sea. 


19— 


MAGIC 

We,  who  yesterday  were  spring,  and  wine,  and 

flame,  to  each  other. 
Today  are  only  two  human  beings, 
Commonplace,  and  tired; 

You  vaguely  jealous,  and  I  slightly  bored.  .  .  . 
But  tomorrow  — 
Or  the  next  day  — 
The  Magic  may  come  back  again. 
And  with  it  Spring,  and  Wine,  and  Flame. 

It  is  for  this  that  I  live. 


-20- 


PLATITUDES 

Tonight  for  a  second 

I  almost  thought  I  could  love  you. 

The  mystery  of  the  night 

And  stillness  of  the  wind 

Seemed  to  speak  of  love 

And  draw  us  closer. 

There  was  something  sublime 

About  our  silence, 

With  only  the  sound  of  dripping  water 

As  it  splashed  and  fingered  the  bow  of  our  boat. 

I  seemed  to  see  you  differently. 

And  for  a  brief  instant 

My  love  wanted  to  creep  down 

And  kneel  at  your  feet. 

Just  then  you  turned  and  said: 

"Isn't  the  moon  wonderful  tonight!"  and 

"It  all  seems  like  a  stage  setting," 

Then  I  knew  I  never  could  love  you! 


-21— 


A  DREAM 

I  REMEMBER  when  the  moon  cast  down  a  flood 
Of  gold  across  my  floor  and  you  came  through 
And  held  my  hand  and  brought  me  hope  like 

silver  dew. 
I  remember  when  your  touch  stirred  my  blood 
And  taught  me  in  a  flash  to  dream  of  you, 
And   recklessly   I   poured   your   face   into   my 

heart 
And  lodged  you  there  —  and  you  were  a  part 
Of  me,  before  I  knew. 

Then  we  became  comrades,  we  two. 

Even  before  this  dream  so  strange  and  new 

Fastened  itseK  upon  my  wakeful  life. 

And  from  out  the  chaos  and  maddening  strife 

I  called  to  you.  ,  .  . 

And  now  you  do  not  answer. 


—22- 


TO  VOULETTI 

There  is  not  a  leaf  grown, 
Not  a  breeze  that's  blown. 
Not  a  sweet  fragrant  tree 
That  is  not  you,  to  me. 

In  the  sunlight  I  feel  your  smile. 
In  the  moonlight  the  whole  long  while, 
I  feel  the  pressure  of  your  hand. 
And  feeling  this  I  understand. 

I  understand  all  sacred  things. 
The  depths  of  Life,  the  secret  wings 
That  carry  beyond  the  dreary  way. 
Turning  dark  to  light,  and  night  to  day. 

All  things  fine,  and  straight,  and  true, 

I  know  better  because  of  you. 

While   your    sweetness    is    like   a   warm   fresh 

shower, 
And  your  face  and  soul  like  a  sun-kissed  flower. 


—23 


OCTOBER  28th 

Today  is  your  birthday. 

Many  people  will  come  to  you  with  offerings, 

While  I, 

Who  seemingly  know  you  so  slightly, 

Yet  who  truly  know  you  so  well, 

Must  stand  aside  with  empty  hands. 

If  love  could  make  this  day  perfect. 

My  love  would  weave  for  you 

A  web  enmeshed  with  all  your  desires. 

On  your  pathway 

I  would  fling  stars  for  pebbles 

And  tear  down  the  moon 

So  that  you  might  wear 

The  radiance  of  its  silver 

In  your  hair. 

But  instead  — 

I  stand  outside  like  a  wall 

And  quite  powerless 

I  send  no  gift  at  all. 


—24- 


LIFE'S  MIRAGE 

I  HAVE  seen  happiness.  I  have  seen  a  sUm 
figure  steal 

Across  my  path,  and  gathering  flowers,  laugh- 
ingly kneel 

And  strew  them  on  my  way.  .  .  . 

Then,  but  for  one  brief  day, 

I  have  seen  them  bloom  beneath  my  feet,  and 
fade  away. 

I  have  heard  happiness.  I  have  heard  its 
voice,  blown  through  the  trees, 

Calling  and  whispering  in  soft  minor  keys; 

I  have  heard  the  voice  of  heart's  desire,  the 
voice  of  Hope, 

Chanting  melodiously  and  luring  me  up  the 
slope 

Of  Life. 

I  have  held  happiness.    Like  a  grain  of  sand. 
Golden  and  beautiful,  and  gathered  in  my  hand. 
There,  one  second  —  then  gone  again: 
Elusive,  transient:  all  in  vain 
To  try  and  hold  it. 


—25 


WIND 

If  I  should  die, 

I  would  be  buried  air-tight  beneath  the  ground. 

While  you  — 

Your  gold  hair  blowing  in  the  breeze  — 

Would  still  feel  the  caress  of  the  wind, 

And  on  your  face  would  steal 

A  smile. 

If  I  should  die. 

My  body  would  be  buried  air-tight  beneath  the 

ground. 
But  my  spirit  will  wander  in  the  wind 
That  touches  and  circles  about  your  face. 
Perhaps  you  will  know  this  — 
And  recognizing  my  touch 
For  this  reason,  you  will  smile.  ... 

The  smile  I  know  and  love. 


—26— 


GOD'S   HAND 

Let  me  wander  back  over  the  mountains, 

And  facing  the  sea 

Live  under  the  open  sky  — 

Too  long  have  I  been  encumbered 

With  the  deceit  of  man 

And  his  spoken  He. 

I  wish  to  die, 

Away  from  petty  thoughts 

And  treacherous  ways, 

And  end  my  days 

Alone. 

I  shall  sing  no  sad  lament 

That  no  hand  guides  me; 

But  rather  shall  the  vision  I  once  have  been 

Through  solitude,  make  me  again  the  thing  I 

might  have  been. 
The  self  I  lost  because  I  trusted,  loved  and 

hoped. 
And  blinded  my  eyes  with  the  dust  of  faith  and 

groped    , 
My  way  to  truth. 

—27— 


There  is  no  truth  in  man  — 

Only  shall  I  find  it 

In  grasping  God's  Hand 

That  leads  my  way  to  hill  and  tree, 

And  stamps  His  Truth  upon  the  sea. 

In  nature  shall  I  find  my  life, 

Through  nature  lose  the  poisoned  knife. 

That  tried  to  slay  me. 

In  solitude  I  shall  breathe  life's  breath. 

And  breathing  life  I  shall  welcome  death. 


—28- 


WORDS 

Words  —  words  — 

Why  are  you  forever  fencing? 

And  if  you  must  fence 

Cannot  you  use  something  else 

Besides  words! 

Do  you  remember  the  last  night? 

We  talked  so  madly  — 

Words  again 

And  then  more  words. 

It  all  seemed  a  tangled  net  of  words. 

You  were  trying  to  convince  me  of  something 

(God  knows  what) 

And  I  was  trying  to  answer  intelligently 

And  keep  my  end  up. 

But  somehow  and  suddenly 

Our  words  meant  so  little; 

Then  you  leaned  forward 

And  your  knee  touched  mine 

And  after  that  my  thoughts  blurred 

And  our  words  meant  nothing. 


-29- 


BLINDNESS 

Perhaps  you  are  not  much  — 
And  maybe  you  are  heartless 
As  they  say  you  are  — 
And  yet, 

I  shall  always  try  to  believe 
That  you  are  all  the  things 
That  I  would  have  you, 
So,  that  in  the  end, 
I  shall  not  have  to  know 
My  love  and  dreams  of  you 
Have  been  all  in  vain 
And  wasted. 


—30— 


SPRING  AND  YOU 

Today  there  is  a  smell  of  Spring  in  the  air  — 
That  sad  restless  note  that  makes  one  stretch 

forth  longing  hands 
Into  the  heart  of  Life. 
I  who  used  to  hate  Spring, 
Can  never  hate  it  again, 
Because  it  has  brought  me  you. 
Now,  Love  and  April,   and  the  gold  of  your 

hair. 
Are  all  mingled  together 
Like  the  blending  of  an  exotic  dream  plant 
With  the  fragrant  perfume  of  a  strange,  frail 

flower. 


-31— 


WALT  WHITMAN 

I  WOULD  dare  say  that  you  are  a  superman. 

Would  fling  the  words  out  to  the  world 

And  dare  him  who  dares  to  question  it. 

I  would  satiate  myself  with  the  art  of  you; 

Would  fling  aside  the  talent  of  the  many, 

For  the  gift  of  the  few 

Whom  you  have  touched. 

In  your  hands  you  hold  a  torch  of  light, 

A  message  in  your  being, 

While  in  your  eyes  — 

Far  seeing  vision  clear  and  bright. 

There  is  power  in  your  poise. 

And  magic 

In  your  rhythm,  advance  and  wait. 

Drinking  in  your  greatness, 

I,  myself,  am  great. 


-32 


SURRENDER 

• 

I  WILL  offer  all  my  love 

Recklessly,  without  rest, 
And  give  myself  completely 

Upon  my  darling's  breast  — 
Our  pulses  shall  beat  as  one  pulse. 

And  in  that  sacred  breath 
I  shall  feel  the  touch  of  Life 

Yet  know  the  truth  of  Death! 


—33— 


WE  THREE 

There  is  something  that  from  between  us  has 

sHpped  away  and  left  me  chill, 
Something  that  by  its  loss  has  made  the  world 

less  warm 
And  made  me  feel  as  though  the  sun  rising  o'er 

the  purple  dew-touched  hill, 
Finds  its  rays  cold  as  it  touches  the  face  of 

dawn. 

Although  we  kiss  and  meet  the  same  each  day, 
You  speak  my  name  and  I  yours  and  we  clasp 

hands, 
Yet  from   somewhere,   I   do    not  know   which 

way. 
Stealing  between  us  a  lurking  figure  stands. 

A  figure  clad  in  gray.  .  .  . 

To  me  a  dream,  a  phantom  come  to  steal 

My  starlight  quite  away. 

To  you  a  gay  figure,  not  strange  but  real. 

And  all  the  while  it  lurks  and  turns. 

And  from  every  cell  and  corner  of  my  brain 

I  feel  its  presence  and  the  burns 

Even  of  your  kisses  cannot  make  me  sane. 

—34— 


Why  should  this  figure  strange  and  sinister 
Keep  on  coming?     Why  should  she  in  the  night 
Breathe  words  of  comfort  and  administer 
Balm  to  my  soul,  pointing  the  way  to  light? 

While  when  we  meet  in  the  day  a  dread  silence 
lingers, 

A  silence  chill  which  with  no  kindness  blends 

A  word  of  cheer,  or  kind  touch  for  my  trem- 
bling fingers; 

No  look  to  prove  that  we  are  even  friends. 

Sometimes  when  you  call  my  name  I  hear  a 

tone 
Of  her  voice  within  yours,  and  you  say 
Things  which  she  will  say  at  night  and  when 

alone. 
Or  what  she's  said  before  just  that  way. 
They  say  we  dream  in  sleep,  but  I  must  dream 

by  day. 
Because  on  waking  she  is  a  dream  child,  nor 

seems  less  fair. 
Though  more  cruel  than  when  I  left  her  in  my 

sleep  sitting  there. 

If  I  could  brush  away  this  vision  and  start 

once  again. 
If  I  could  see  sunlight  and  feel  less  sad, 

—35— 


If  I  could  only  steady  the  confusion  of  my  brain, 
Somewhere,  somehow  I  might  again  be  glad. 
And  by  a  laugh  or  carefree  jest, 
I  might  once  more  call  your  love  from  out  the 

past 
And  hold  you  closely  to  my  side  —  lest. 
Again  between  us  the  figure  stand  and  fast 
Would  bind  my  hands  and  from  me  turn  your 

face  away. 
Making  once  more  my  day  a  night  and  my 

night  a  day. 

Ah,   love,   if  we   could   turn   Spring   into   last 

Spring  again. 
Or  if  I  could  toss  my  heart  away  and  make  it 

new; 
If  I  could  drink  deeply  of  some  draught  to  ease 

the  pain. 
Or  become  more  callous,  less  kind  and  far,  far 

less  true.  ... 
Less  true  to  ideals,  to  love  and  you. 

Perhaps  I  will,  then  my  brain  will  cease  to 

ache, 
And  this  sad  frenzied  chaos  I  will  not  prolong; 
Then  for  yours,  or  mine  or  hers  or  each  one's 

sake, 
I  will  wave  farewell  to  you,  singing  Love's  Swan 

Song. 

—36— 


Singing  Love's  Swan  Song,  so  that  this  may 

truly  be. 
That    never    again    will    false    love    take    hold 

of  me; 
I  may  be  mad,  but  which  is  the   maddest   of 

we  three. 
Is  it  you?    Or  I?    Or  is  it  she? 


-37— 


IN  THE  WINGS 

Back  in  the  wings 

I  remember  how  I  used  to  stand  by  your  side 
until  you  went  oti, 

I  remember  the  darkness  and  the  slow  beat  of 
the  music  — 

And  the  mad  desire  in  me  to  hold  you  always 
near  me. 

I  remember  the  weird  reflection  of  the  colored 
spot  as  it  circled  round, 

And  you  gazing  intensely  at  the  dancers, 

While  I  watched  only  the  curve  of  your  neck 
and  the  way  your  hair  grew. 

You    seemed    to    be    always    thinking    of    the 
dancers, 

Or,  as  you  said  yourself  so  often, 

"Of  nothing  at  all." 

But  I,  while  standing  with  my  shoulder  touch- 
ing yours, 

Or  holding  your  hand  — 

Would  dream  great,  wonderful  dreams  that  car- 
ried far  beyond  the  horizon! 


—38— 


INFATUATION 

It  is  not  that  I  shall  ever  forget 
The  charm  of  your  face,  this  I  do  not  fear. 
Or  the  rhythmic  sway  of  your  form,  nor  yet 
The  melody  of  the  voice  I  loved  to  hear. 
These  things  I  shall  remember. 
I  shall  remember,  too,  the  beauty  of  your  eyes 
And  the  stirring  curves  of  your  crimson  mouth, 
Like   lightning   storms    and   wind-swept    flam- 
ing skies 
Set  on  fire  by  the  hot  sun  of  the  South. 
I  can  recall  all  the  words  you  promised  and 

said, 
Your   seductive   caressing  ways   and   the  false 

kisses  you  gave  to  me; 
Remembering   these   I   cannot   help   harboring 

the  dread 
That  some  day  I  will  return,  remembering  no 
longer  your  cruelty. 


-39 


ALL  I  ASK 

Not  caresses,  nor  the  touch  of  your  hand,  nor 

the  sweet  savor 
Of  your  love,  I  ask;  nor  the  flavor 
Of  your  Hps  against  mine  day  by  day; 
(These  joys  I  could  not  hope  to  stay). 
They  will  pass  and  naught  remain. 
Except  sweet  memories,  or  perhaps  the  pain 
Of  their  departure. 
I  could  not  hope  that  you  would  give  these 

things  forever. 
Nor  that  our  lives  in  one  long  dream  could  pass 

together; 
But  when  love's  tide  has  ebbed  and  after  you 

quite  forget. 
May  there  come  to  you  no  sad  remorse  or  deep 

regret 
For  the  things  that  you  have  given. 


SYMBOL 

You  are  a  symbol  to  me 

Of  all  the  better  things  I  might  have  been. 

Of  all  the  best  things  I  still  might  be, 

Of  all  the  wonderful  things  that  are  not 

But  exist  somewhere  in  the  God  Mind 

As  yet  unborn  and  unfulfilled  — 

These  things  you  are  to  me. 

Then  you  are  Truth  and  Silence  — 

Both  the  Divine  Force  and  the  Great  Strength, 

And  being  all  these  things 

You  cannot  help  —  being  Love ! 


-^1— 


MISUNDERSTANDING 

You  have  so  completely  misunderstood  me 

Vainly  I  have  tried  to  reach  you 

But  always  you  have  turned  away. 

And  yet. 

Like  a  blue  flame 

Burning  hot  and  fiercely 

My  faith  has  ever  burned  for  you. 

Through  the  darkness 

Of  my  loneliness 

I  have  prayed  for  even  small  gleams 

From  the  candle  of  your  thoughts  — 

I  would  not  pray  for  love; 

But  all  the  while 

I  would  gladly  have  worn  my  soul  out 

To  bring  you  joy. 

And  more  than  that.  .  .  . 

Had  you  asked  — 

For  you  I  would  have  made  a  plaything 

Of  my  dreams. 

But  what  does  it  all  matter  — 

Why  should  I  care 

That  you  do  not  love  me, 

'  —42— 


Or  that  you  turn  away  and  despise  me? 
Since  through  you  I  have  found  inspiration 
(All  unworthy  that  you  are) 
And  quite  unknowingly  you  have  shown  me 
The  pathway  to  a  star! 


ENDING 

Life!    I  am  broken,  tired, 

I  have  drunk  too  deep  and  wandered  far  — 

And  coveted  a  star. 

I  have  been  a  rebel 

And  fought  against  your  laws.     I  was  bent 

On  wielding  you  .  .  .  but  you  had  me  in  your 

firmament 
And  I  never  knew. 
Now  I  know  — 
I  know  I  cannot  beat  you, 
And  he  who  wants  to  meet  you 
Must  go  your  way 
Or  Perish. 

Life!    I  am  weary,  spent. 

The  sun  you  gave  me  was  only  lent 

And  now  at  the  end  of  my  day 

It  has  faded  and  gone  away. 

I  am  lonely  and  grown  cold; 

Youth  is  on  my  brow,  yet  I  am  old. 

And  darkness  falls  around  me. 


Life!     I  am  finished,  ended, 

But  before  my  way  from  you  I've  wended, 

I  only  ask  one  thing.     I,  who  used  to  ask  so 

much! 
(The  music  has  stopped  and  I  feel  no  touch), 
Life!    I  falter  because  the  way  is  far  too  steep 
And  so  in  pity  just  send  me  .  .  .  Sleep! 


—45— 


POETRY 

Like  a  beautiful,  frail,  seductive  woman 

Who  flings  herself  across  her  lover's  couch 

And  wets  his  lips  with  desire  — 

So  you,  too. 

Fling  and  stretch  your  long,  lean,  white- 
limbed  body. 

Across  the  couch  of  Life 

And  with  your  lips  alluring. 

You  chant  your  rhythmic,  undulating,  euphoni- 
ous, melodious  song, 

Into  the  heart  of  me. 

Vainly  I  try  to  tear  myself 

From  the  bondage  of  your  voice, 

And  cast  you  off  — 

But  from  far  away. 

And  deep  down  in  the  long  unlived-in  and  bar- 
ren valleys  of  my  soul, 

I  feel  the  breath  of  you. 

You  are  like  pastures  green, 

When  one  has  lived  forever  with  face  pressed 
to  the  sand; 

You  are  like  cool,  moist  rocks  with  moss  between; 

—46— 


You  are  like  shadows  of  thin  cypress  trees 

Across  a  moonlit  stream  — 

Like  rippling,  twisting,  sprays  of  foam 

Across  the  dark  unfathomable  sea. 

These  things  you  seem  to  me. 

In  you.  Oh,  Poetry, 

Lies  the  power  to  lift  me  up. 

And  mad  with  frenzied  exaltation 

To   bear   my   spirit   beyond   the   need   of   any 

mortal  want. 
In  you  the  power 
To  beat  upon  my  heart  strings. 
And  quivering,  with  your  music. 
To  toss  for  me  weird,  flaming  words  across  my 

brain. 
And  hear  your  rhythm  in  my  soul  beat  back 

again. 
In  you  the  power  to  dash  me  down  — 
For  in  my  desire  to  create  a  child  of  yours; 
And  after  infinite  toil  and  labor  pain. 
To  find  it  deformed,  weak,  and  not  worthy  of 

your  name. 


—47- 


ATLANTIC  CITY 

Vulgar  houses 

And  large  grotesque  hotels, 

Thousands  of  swarming  people, 

Overfed,  disgusting,  and  fat. 

Or  pale  and  sickly; 

Creeping  along  the  boardwalk 

Or  being  pushed  by  sweating  niggers 

In  pigmy  houses  built  on  wheels. 

Shops  filled  with  gaudy  finery  — 

Cheap  laces,  false  jewelry,  and  pink 

and  blue  sea  salt  candy.  ... 
And  then  more  shops. 
And  million  dollar  piers 
Stretching  their  sordid  hands  out  toward  the 

horizon, 
And  reaching  down  into  the  depths  and  sacred 

blueness  of  the  ocean. 
Which,    in    the    face    of    all    such    man-built 

hideousness, 
Remains  forever,  mysterious, 
Sublime  and  beautiful! 


-48— 


YOUR  FACE 

How  glorious  is  the  coming  back  to  your  face 

After  I  have  seen  so  many  others 

All  missing  something, 

And  failing  me  completely. 

Faces  filled  with  lust  and  hatred. 

With  joy,  hope  and  despair; 

Some  dripping  with  greed  and  others  fresh  with 

love  — 
But  in  your  face, 
I  find  the  consummation  or  possibility  of  all 

these  things. 
Both  good  and  evil  — 
Like  a  well 

With  no  man  capable  of  measuring  its  depth. 
Mysterious,    pathetic,    sensitive,     strong    and 

weak; 
But  always  exquisite 
With  a  beauty  that  creates  in  my  heart  an 

aching  thing 
That  penetrates  and  fires  my  soul  forever. 
How  glorious  is  the  coming  back  to  your  face 
After  I  have  seen  so  many  others. 


ILLUSION 

Last  year 

Within  this  door 

We  stood  and  dreamed 

Great  dreams. 

I  remember  the  Hght 

In  your  face. 

And  the  odor  of  my  HHes, 

Suffocating  and  strange. 

This  year  — 

You  have  gone 

And  I  have  ceased  to  dream. 

But  my  Hhes  are  flowering  once  more. 

And  their  odor, 

In  the  dusk's  wane, 

Creates  you. 

And  our  dreams. 

All  over  again. 


—50— 


FESTA    DEL    REDENTORE    IN    VENICE 

Deep  blue  water, 

Like  a  dark  sapphire; 

A  thousand  swinging  lanterns 

Reflected  in  its  depths, 

And  hung  from  gondolas 

Whose  blackness  makes  them  forever 

True  comrades  of  the  night. 

Fireworks  with  spark  and  light; 

Dripping  from  the  skies. 

Like  thirsty  stars 

Bending  to  cool  their  lips 

On  Venetian  waters. 

Near  by  and  far 

The  echo  of  a  carefree  laugh, 

The  plaintive  voices  of  violins. 

And  clear  songs  of  living  men; 

While  deep  in  the  shadows 

Of  beauty  and  old  palaces, 

Crouch  the  ghosts  of  tears  and  crime, 

And  men  long  centuries  dead. 


—51 


COLOR  SYMPHONY 

Open  wings  of  sea  gulls 

And  snow  peaks  are  white; 

Deep  water  in  ancient  slime-lined  wells 

Is  black  — 

Great  cities  are  gray, 

With  dark,  gloomy  smoke  rising  to  kill  the 

day. 
Sunsets  are  gold 
And  sometimes  red, 
While  the  moon  glows  silver. 
And  then  instead 
Its  face  seems  rose. 
But  love  — 
Love  is  all  colors, 

Sometimes  black  and  sometimes  red. 
Seldom  white  but  again  gold  — 
Colors  of  youth  and  colors  old; 
Faded  colors. 
Lavender,  green. 

With  stretches  of  orange  in  between. 
Love  is  often  a  deep  rich  blue. 
Or  crimson  for  blood 
With  a  dark  brown  hue. 
Love  is  gray 
Like  twilight's  breath  — 
Love  —  all  color  symbols  of  life 
Yet,  in  reality.  Death! 

—52— 


TO  ONE  WHO  LOVES  JEWELS 

I  GAVE  you  verses  of  mine 

Telling  of  my  sadness 

And  praising  your  beauty, 

But  you  tossed  the  beautiful  white  sheets 

That  bore  my  poems 

Disdainfully  away  from  you. 

I  gave  you  my  love  — 

And  more  than  that, 

I  gave  my  dreams  by  night  and  day. 

But  you  understood  neither 

And  turned  your  face  away. 

Then  I  gave  you  a  jewel, 
A  dark  sapphire  like  the  night 
With  depths  in  it  like  the  sea, 
And  for  that  sapphire  alone 
You  smiled  at  me. 


-53— 


FOOTPRINTS 

Stretching  before  me  the  ever-moving  but 
never-changing  sea, 

Looking  so  wild  and  dark  with  mad  white 
blotches  of  foam  across  its  face  — 

While  I, 

A  mere  grain  of  sand  in  the  turmoil  and  winds 
of  Time, 

Stand  alert  and  tense, 

Gazing  forward  and  wondering  and  peering  into 
the  Future.  .  .  . 

Across  the  depths  of  the  sea  hundreds  of  cen- 
turies roll  past. 

And  along  its  shores  I  follow  the  worn  and 
faded  footprints 

Of  men  long  since  dead. 


—54- 


LIFE  AND  YOUTH 

Through  the  archways  of  Life  I  tread, 

Nor  do  I  walk  with  much  less  dread, 

Because  I  know 

That  where  I  go, 

Millions  have  walked  before  me. 

I  do  not  feel  less  pain  because  'tis  said. 

That  saints  and  martyrs  and  soldiers  have  bled 

For  what  they  gave. 

I  am  not  brave 

Because  of  this. 

I  weep  not  less, 

Because  in  distress 

Others,  perhaps  being  stronger,  have  not  wept 

as  much; 
For  Stoics,  and  tearless  people,  and  because  of 

such 
Restraint,  I  hold  not  back  my  tears. 

I  borrow  not  my  courage  from  the  crowd. 
My  heart  is  heavy  and  my  head  is  bowed  — 
But  were  I  to  raise  my  head  high. 
And  cast  my  eyes  up  to  the  sky, 
A  star  might  guide  me. 

—55— 


I  cannot  be  what  has  been, 
I  cannot  see  what's  been  seen. 
I  shape  my  course, 
And  gather  force, 
From  what's  to  come. 

The  future  is  my  golden  star, 
My  inspiration  —  and  from  afar, 
I  see  the  deeds  that  may  be  done, 
I  watch  a  race  that  may  be  run. 
And  hold  my  breath  in  ecstasy. 

Away!    Black  shadows  of  the  past. 

Stale  traditions  that  hold  us  fast. 

Because  they  were. 

Must  we  not  stir 

From  off  their  worn  out  path.f^ 

I  take  up  the  spade  of  Youth  and  of  Life, 
And    fling    new    pebbles    on    the    path,    where 

strife 
Has  worn  the  old  ones  out. 
I  dig  and  put  to  rout. 
Old  fancies  and  old  doubt. 


—56- 


Across  the  world  I  hear  a  clear,  new  note; 
The   locks   are   shattered   and   the   chains   are 

smote, 
And    a    moonbeam    has    fallen    across    life's 

shoulder. 
I  raise  my  sword,  and  like  a  pioneer  soldier, 
I  sharpen  it  on  the  Shield  of  Hope. 


—57- 


POOR  FOOLS 

The  war  is  over  — 

Once  more  they  think  that  they  may  dance, 

And  make  the  old-time  gilded  show, 

And  drink  behind  closed  doors 

Their  forbidden,  hoarded  wine. 

And  pin  jewels  upon  their  breasts. 

Dance  on. 

Poor  fools. 

Because  you  do  not  know 

That  marching 

Over  the  face  of  the  world 

Another  Great  Army  is  sweeping! 


-58— 


LONGING 

All  night  long  I  used  to  wish  that  I  were  dead, 
"May  I  never  see  another  dawn,"  I  said. 

Now  I  long  for  dawn  the  whole  night  through 
Because  on  waking  it  brings  me  —  you ! 


—59— 


MUSIC 

Forever,  they  are  telling  me 

How  futile  are  your  words. 

And  yet  — 

It  seems  strange  the  spell  you  created  when  you 

spoke  to  me. 
I  would  never  listen  much  to  what  you  were 

saying. 
Because  I  was  always  hearing  just  the  song  in 

your  voice. 
Quite  ordinary  things  you  would  say, 
Such  as: 

"I  am  really  very  tired  tonight" — or 
"I  wonder  why  the  curtain  is  so  late?" 
Or  sometimes  you  would  talk  of  simple  things 

done  during  the  day. 
But  to  me  — 

To  me  it  was  all  wonderful 
Because  your  voice 
Was  mellow  and  low. 
And  sounded  like  the  muffled  pealing 
Of  some  distant  old  church  bell. 


-60— 


FLOWERS  AND  STARS 

Flowers  are  the  stars  of  earth, 
Stars,  the  flowers  of  the  sky; 
But  you  are  both  in  my  heart  — 
Flowers  and  stars  till  I  die. 


61 


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